


The Worst Thing Possible

by Hightress



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blaise is an actual angel, Drabble, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Drastoria is canon, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Pansy is being extra, Pining, pansy centric, past Draco/Pansy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 08:51:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13244772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hightress/pseuds/Hightress
Summary: Few things in existence hurt as much as rejection. Even when done in the gentlest way possible.Pansy thinks about her past failures. Blaise has better plans.





	The Worst Thing Possible

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you'll like it!

Few things in existence hurt as much as rejection. Even when done in the gentlest way possible.

Pansy learned that lesson years before. She had been fifteen at that time - young, ambitious, her head still full of dreams. She loved a boy - big word indeed, that stupid 'love', and yet, not misplaced and definitely not untrue. He didn't look at her twice.

He might've held her heart with care, delicate and pale fingers touching briefly it's contour as slow beatings became more hurried. He might've spoken in that elegant, familiar way of his, thick emotions of regret clear through the accent.

It still pained her. Still left her aching and twitching on her own, feeling both hopeful and hopeless.

She should've known. She should've been prepared to be discarded, to be walked on by quality boots, made out of leather.

She loved him for his cruelty, his pride and those cold eyes of his. His money, his status, his family ties - those mattered, of course, but they hadn't been the reason why she gave herself up for him. She had wanted to rule the world with him, to watch the people from above, to spit on their feet, and for her to be the only exception who could touch his frozen heart.

She didn't need him to melt for her, just craved to have him swallow her warmth.

They had moved together for a while. Both made mistakes, said the worst thing possible, played the wrong cards. Both were punished, both have failed.

Alliances are difficult, especially when feelings and family were included. And what happened with the Dark Lord hadn't even been an alliance, it had been slavery.

He had taken advantage of them and thousands others. And when he burned, they touched the flames alongside him.

Draco's ashes didn't even touch hers.

She hadn't been the only one wanting that sort of closeness with him. She knew countless others, girls and boys together, hoping to he noticed. Hoping to own him or be owned. She used to pity them - she did - back then, when she still had the illusion that she would be enough.

Things should've become clearer once the war was over. They were not. She expected him to seek someone, to fill that empty hole left in his life from his father's absence, but he chose to dissappear altogether, to vanish, to leave her and them all.

When he came back, her wide, waiting arms, full of longing and warmth didn't matter. It was too late.

His were the arms too full. His, holding close another.

Pansy remembered her well. Astoria, the youngest of the Greengrass line. Sweet, innocent, pure. A defender of muggles. The mother of a shy, little blonde boy.

She stood no chance.

Everytime she had to watch from the distance the two of them interact, she didn't know if what she was feeling was the need to have them both buried alive or to gouge her own eyes out. But she had to stop - either looking or caring. It was distroying her. The same way she once dreamed about having the world break under her heels, she ended up having her own life crumbling.

All because of one boy. A boy that once seemed cruel and brutal, both with his words and actions, his beliefs building up walls. Now, the boy grew into a caring man, staring into the eyes of his beloved wife (were they married? Pansy wasn't as strong as it was necessary to ask such a question) with so much love it was sickening.

Astoria's eyes mirrored his. Of course they did.

Pansy wanted to throw up. Instead, she asked for another glass of wine, not caring about brand or price or even taste. She needed the alcohol to blind her, at least temporarily.

They were at a gathering. Her, Draco, Astoria and some other hundred faces she recalled from her school days. Everyone else seemed to be happy, small smiles painting their faces as they were rewarded with proud grins.

She was hurting. Why were they different? Why were they able to enjoy their days when she was right there, next to then, feeling miserable?

Most of them were snakes. All punished years before, all treated like monsters or cowards by the society. It wasn't visible in that moment. Pansy couldn't see a trace of that sort of scar.

That was what she wanted to see. To make her feel less alone, less than a puppet in which anger and despair were the bottled up emotions.

She was standing on a chair next to the bar finishing up her fifth glass of the night. She wasn't tipsy - not yet, but she wished she would be.

From that position, she kept watching everyone in the room. She kept criticising their outfits, the way they aged, their chosen ones.

Theodore Nott had come with that strange Lovegood. It was a pity, Pansy had expected so much more from him. Class, elegance, money, not nargles or whatever those creatures were called.

But they were smiling. The girl was making the once introverted Theo grin so widely that Pansy chose to look somewhere else, afraid one of them might catch her stare and judge her intrusion (She wasn't jealous of their happiness. She wasn't.)

Maybe rejection wasn't the worst thing possible. Solitude sounded even worse.

And, in that precise moment, she was feeling lonely. Not just broken or disappointed or unsatisfied.

She didn't desire anymore to rule the world. All she needed was to be part of it, no matter how small or insignificant.

"I want to be part of it. Please! Let me be part of it!" she whispered, the only remaining lucid part of her managing to make her voice barely heard.

Her hand was tightly wrapped around the glass of wine. Her breathing was unsteady. Her eyes were unfocused.

She was a mess. She thanked all the muggle gods above that it wasn't as visible as it could've been.

"Parkinson?" someone called out her name, surprise and a small dose of delight readable in that tone .

She jerked out of her haziness. She recognised that voice.

She had less than a second to regain her composure and turn the frown on her face into a controlled smirk.

"Blaise," she turned to him, her glass in her left hand as she extended her right one to his lips to have it kissed. "It's been a while."

He jockingly rolled his eyes at her antics but decided to play along, as he always did. "Seems so, indeed," he agreed, pressing his mouth to her contrastingly pale skin. "Do you mind if I join you?"

A gentleman as always. How could she refuse?

"I'll never say no to a good company," she motioned elegantly at the seat right next to hers. "Sit. Buy me a drink if you want."

She didn't know why she said it like that - as if she was above him and expected to be served - when she was the one failing to survive. She just did, like she did countless times before, when they were children poking sticks at each other. He used to let her win every time.

"And if I don't want to?" he challenged her, even though both knew there was no point in doing so.

Of course she had to point it out. "Let's not talk about improbable things," she said.

With a laugh, he got comfortable in his seat and ordered two more glasses of white wine. The ones he chose were sweeter than the liquid she had poured down her throat until then.

The alcohol barely wetted her mouth when Blaise spoke again.

"Where have you been in the past two months? I haven't seen you at the last two meetings."

She swallowed her drink.

"I needed some time to process something," she decided to leave as an answer. "Don't ask me, I won't say more than this."

His eyes followed her for a few moments. He didn't push her, even though it was clear that he wanted to.

It wasn't an action often taken by people from their house. He must've really respected her to allow her to stay inside her shell.

"Have you processed it?" he asked cautiously. There also seemed to be something different in his tone, some sort of emotion she couldn't recognise.

She thought about her answer. Less than twenty minutes before she would've given a solid 'no'. Now, she wasn't as certain as she would've expected herself to be.

"I'm not sure..." she answered truthfully. Blaise's grounding presence was confusing her. It was comforting, familiar. She didn't despise it - not even close.

As if he sensed her inner turmoil, he took her hands in his. It was an intimate gesture, especially for her, not having been touched for so long. But not as intimate as his next words.

"I missed you, you know?" It should've been illigal to sound so sincere. More so since he was a guy.

Where was his pride? Why was he saying those things so easily?

Not knowing how else to react, Pansy chose to retract to her oldest card - humourless narcissism.

"I missed me too," she said, curving her lips upwards.

It was a bitchy answer. A coward's mask and they were both aware of it. Why was she even bothering to hide the fact that somewhere, in a corner of her darkened soul, she has been longing for such a reunion for a long time?

Unexpectedly, his eyes seemed to light up at the answer.

"You never change, do you?"

She blinked at him, confused but relieved that she didn't make the matters worse.

"Do you want me to?"

He was categoric in his answer.

"No, definitely not." He moved his eyes from her to stare at the rest of the people gathered around. He didnt say anything for a while and she allowed him to be alone with his thoughts. She owed him this much. A minute passed before he sat up from chair and, still holding her hands, made a move to get her up as well. "Care to join me for a dance?"

There was so much happiness in his eyes that Pansy couldn't find it in her to say no. But she noticed that nobody else was moving in the rhythm of the music. Not that she could blame them with those acoustic melodies.

"We can't dance with this kind of music. It's too slow," she said in the end, hoping that her eyes could convert the fact that she wasn't making an excuse or something similar.

His reaction surprised her. He shook his head after she finished talking and said:

"I wasn't talking about here. I know a place close." When she didn't look convinced, he added with a knowing grin "It's underground, loud and full of energy. You'll love it."

Pansy surely didn't hate the sound of that.

"I hope you're right. Otherwise I'll be really disappointed in you, Zabini," she said, stepping closer to him.

"You won't be, Pans. I'll make sure of it."

And, in that moment, as he stared at her with those intense eyes of his, Pansy could swear her heartbeat stopped for a few seconds. Because it didn't feel like he was talking about a simple dance and two people enjoying each other's presence. It was a promise of a lot more than that.

Pansy smiled and took in his form, their hands connecting their bodies, thinking for the first time in what felt like eternity that this was what existing felt like.

She tightened her hold on him. Forgot about broken surfaces, about flames and ash, about punishments and war.

Because existing, as she could sense it in that moment, was the best thing possible.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been two years since my last attempt at writing Pansy. I'm so much happier with this one, and I'm really curious about you guys are going to think about this.
> 
> So throw comments at me. I can't wait to read your words. Kudos are also immensely appreciated! 
> 
> If you want to scream with me about Harry Potter or any other fandom, my tumblr is @hightress (I don't bite, I promise)


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